My Bloody Winchester
by Somnacin
Summary: Sure, Jimmy Novak was jonesing for those hamburgers...but what does a certain Angel of the Lord crave?


**Supernatural** and its associated characters belong to **Eric Kripke** (lucky bastard!)

_Author's Note_: **Just a short little somethin' I wrote after I watched Season 5's "My Bloody Valentine." Answer to the question in my mind...what does Cas want even more than red meat (or, more specifically, hamburgers)?**

Castiel quietly fingered the White Castle bag, inhaling the mingled scents of Jimmy Novak's childhood; grease and potatoes and grilled bovine. There were worse things his vessel could crave, he supposed. Far worse things. It was perfectly natural for _Jimmy Novak_ to be hungry_,_ because Jimmy Novak was human and had therefore earned the right to lust after hamburgers and Amelia and the quiet tedium of his job at the bank... what was not perfectly natural was for _Castiel_ to feel, stemming from the depths of his grace, a sharp and unsatisfied coil of all-too-human desire. Not for burgers, or a lost spouse, or a peace of a job he could never return to, but for a mortal soul. A man.

_And not just any man._

He stood in Bobby Singer's door for a fraction of a second, crumpling all that was left of his vessel's Famine-induced desire into a greasy ball. But he didn't throw it away; instead he took a few brave steps out into the yard and "let fly", using Jimmy's Little League reflexes to direct the paper where it needed to go. It struck Dean Winchester directly between the shoulders: in a move that would have made his father proud, Dean spun gracefully at the heel and tossed an ivory-handled Swiss Army Knife at Castiel... the Angel caught the weapon mid-revolution, a split second before it would have pierced his borrowed heart.

"Oh, Cas." Dean's voice was rough, scrubbed clean of any emotion besides weariness. "Sorry, I just--"

"I apologize," Castiel said. He was regretting acting upon his impulses; Famine's influence was already waning. By morning there would be nothing left of Castiel's rash, human desire (or at least, he hoped so). "I shouldn't have surprised you. It is not the time."

"Nah. It's fine."

The eldest Winchester sighed and curved his spine against the Impala, slipping down its silver-streaked side until his back pockets touched the gravel. Castiel moved to occupy the space closest to him, doing his best to respect Dean's personal "bubble". It didn't help that he was still in the throes of the Horseman's influence; his entire body pulled towards the silent Winchester, as if he were the north pole of a magnet and Castiel the south.

"Helluva day," Dean whispered. The Angel got the feeling this wasn't directed at him, but at whomever Dean had left the house to confront. God. Michael. Perhaps even Lucifer, the Beast responsible for making his life (and Sam's) hell. _Literally. _But Castiel responded anyway, placing a comforting hand on Dean's broad shoulder.

"You beat the Horseman." It was a foolish thing to say-- he'd been there when Famine had mocked Dean for his silent, despairing apathy-- but Castiel had never had a talent with human beings, at interpreting social cues. So it was really no surprise when Dean threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, derisive shout wrenched from the depths of his broken soul.

And Castiel watched helplessly as his charge's laughter began the slow decay towards dry, heavy sobs. He could see Dean fighting it, see the embarrassment in his sharp green eyes as he tried to turn away from the Angel and hide the tears streaming down his face... Castiel leaned in and pressed his lips against Dean Winchester's sweat-dampened forehead, inhaling the scent of generic shampoo ingrained in the smooth, dark hair (leftovers from the years spent in motel rooms).

"I love you, Dean Winchester." He breathed the words over the cap of Dean's skull as he drew him into a firm embrace, felt the young man crumple into his chest like Jimmy Novak's hamburger bag. There wasn't a chance Dean heard him; Castiel hardly heard himself, just felt the soft tickle of air rushing between his lips and the quiet vibrations of his throat. "_I love you_."

* * *

And he gripped Dean tight for the second time in his short, mortal life and prayed to God that it would all be over soon.

* * *

**The End!**


End file.
